Faye Kellerman - Milk and Honey

Medino came back to his desk. Andrick cleared his throat. Decker understood the hint. He said, “Where’s Myra Steele now?”

“Originally, they took her to Hollywood Pres, but her mom moved her to County because she didn’t have any insurance.”

Decker said, “Mind if I have a word with Myra?”

“Be my guest,” Andrick said. “She should be there at least another week. Why all the interest in this case?”

Decker explained his involvement.

“And you think your scuzzbag friend is innocent?”

“I’m withholding judgment.”

Andrick sat back in his chair and wiped his damp forehead with a handkerchief. He felt much better, was breathing easier. “So what are you gonna do with Myra Steele? Grill her until she retracts what she said?”

Decker said, “Hell no! If the sucker did it, I’ll kill him for doing that to her and making an ass out of me. But for starters, I’d like to know who’s pimping her.”

“You won’t get the name from her.”

“I can try.”

“Sure,” Andrick said. “Try.” He gave Decker a wary half-smile. “And if you get it from her, you’ll give it to me, right?”

“Absolutely,” Decker said. “I’m not playing hot dog.”

“Just so you and I understand each other.”

“It’s your collar, Detective,” Decker said. “I don’t dance with anyone else’s woman,’ cause I get pissed when someone dances with mine. I’d like to copy the file.”

“Go ahead,” Andrick said.

When Decker returned, Andrick said, “Your partner’s on the line.”

Decker picked up the phone and said, “What’s up?”

“I got a call from Delferno,” Marge said. “One of his pals says Sally looks like one of his kids. Mother’s from Sacramento. She should be down maybe one, two in the morning. Kid was grabbed by Dad about six months ago.”

“How old would her kid be?”

“About two and a half.”

“Sally’s not two and a half.”

“Delferno faxed me the picture of the missing kid—kid’s name is Heather Miller. She’s supposed to be small for her age, and there’s a strong resemblance.”

“Okay,” Decker said. “I just hope Mama doesn’t go into a major depression if it’s not hers.”

“Well, that’s a chance she’s willing to take.”

“I’ll be at the station in a couple of hours,” Decker said. “Would you call Sophi Rawlings for me?”

“Already did, Pete. Where’re you going now?”

“Gonna cruise for sugar.”

Marge said, “Wear gloves.”

It was nearly midnight, but Sunset Boulevard was still teeming with bugs. Decker found three streetwalkers idling at a corner gas station next to a Mideastern vender selling huge stuffed animals at ridiculously low prices. The toys were imports, and no doubt didn’t meet American safety standards. A month ago a batch had been seized at Foothill, all the teddy bears and doggies stuffed with flammable rags that combusted spontaneously in hot weather.

Decker parked on a side street and approached the streetwalkers. The first whore might have been a plump, freckled-faced farm girl, except she was wearing fake leopard-skin hot pants, a matching halter, and knee-high black boots. The other two were black. One had dyed her hair platinum blond and painted her clawish fingernails high-gloss black. The other girl had a short Afro, a fur choker around her neck, and seven earrings in each ear. As Decker neared, the one with the earrings nudged the one with the claws, and the trio began to disperse. Decker sprinted to them and yelled, “Wait!” The girls stopped. Fingernails spoke up:

“We’re goin’.”

“I suppose you ladies have some ID on you.”

The girls began to reach into their purses.

Decker said, “Don’t bother. I believe you. I’m a very trusting fellow.”

The girls eyed each other. A black-and-white pulled up at the corner. Decker showed his badge and waved the cruiser away.

“Say what, Detective,” said Fingernails. She was gazing at her feet. Her spiked heels gave her at least six inches of height. A wonder she didn’t need a balancing rod to walk.

“What’s your name, honey?” Decker asked.

“Anything you want,” Fingernails answered. The other hookers laughed.

Decker’s eyes bore into hers. “What’s your name?” he asked again.

“Amanda.”

Decker stared at her for another minute. He asked, “And how long have you and your girlfriends worked the area?”

“You gonna bust us, or what?” asked the plump white girl.

Decker said, “That all depends.”

“On what?” asked Amanda.

Decker said, “On if you cooperate.”

“Watchu want?” Amanda asked.

Decker smiled.

Amanda said, “C’mon. I’ll do you in the back alley.”

“Do what?”

“Do what you want,” Amanda said.

“What do I want?” Decker said.

Amanda’s eyes clouded. “I ain’t saying no more.”

“I’m not here for badge pussy, Amanda,” Decker said.

“Then what do you want?” asked the white one.

“A little help.”

The girls were silent.

Decker said, “Question number one: Any of you know a lady named Myra Steele?”

More silence.

“Aw, c’mon, girls,” Decker said. “Where’s your sense of civic duty? Besides, the longer I hang around, the more I drive away your business.”

“Why you hassling us?” said the one with the earrings.

“’Cause you guys are the first streetwalkers I saw,” Decker said. “And I love leopard skin.” He eyed the white girl. “What’s your name?”

“Chrissie,” she said.

“Chrissie,” Decker repeated. “Glad to know you, Chrissie. You know Myra Steele?”

“I might.”

“You know she was beat up pretty badly?” Decker asked.

“I mighta heard something like that.”

“Oh, and what else might you have heard?” Decker said.

“Don’t say no more,” Amanda whispered.

“You have something to share with us, Amanda?” Decker said.

“I didn’t say nothing,” Amanda answered.

“You know, Amanda, I hang around, it’s your pockets that are goin’ empty. Your man gets pissed off at you, not me. See, I’ve got time. I’m paid to do this.”

“Bully for you,” said Amanda.

Decker asked the girl with the earrings, “What’s your name?”

“Maynona,” she said.

“Maynona’s a nice name. Can I call you May for short?” Decker asked.

“I don’t give a shit.”

“Good,” Decker said. “I’ll call you May. Did you know Myra Steele, May?”

“Maybe.”

“And maybe you know she’s still in the hospital?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe you also know who her pimp might be?”

“Maybe I don’t.”

“But maybe you do.”

Maynona looked off to her right, stared at stuffed pink elephants and black-and-white pandas.

Chrissie said, “I think she was an independent since Letwoine got blowed away.”

“Nice try,” Decker said. “But you know and I know that no one is an independent here.”

“Well, maybe she wasn’t no independent,” Chrissie said. She unknotted her halter strap and tied it tighter. The increased pressure flattened her round breasts and made them pop out of the sides of the garment. She gave Decker a sultry smile.

He remained stone-faced and said, “So if Myra Steele wasn’t an independent, who was she working for?”

The girls were silent.

Decker took out a pack of cigarettes and offered one to each girl. He lit their smokes, then lit one for himself.

“There some new foreign businessmen around here that scare you gals?” he inquired.

“Maybe,” Amanda said.

“Do they have names?”

“You ain’t getting them from me,” Amanda said.